Hot Water Helps You Clean

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Hot Water Helps You Clean
by Angela Rasch

I had just finished conditioning the oak woodwork in our twenty-year-old home’s basement with Murphy Oil Soap when the doorbell rang. I scanned myself in the wall mirror and wished for the millionth time that my uniform fit me better.

There’s only so much you can do to make a maid’s dress look natural on a forty-year-old male body that weighs more than two hundred pounds, unless you make drastic changes. . .operations and hormones. I sighed. . .once again wishing for things that could never happen.

My black dress ended at my knees. Its arms and neck were decorated with delicate white lace. The polished fingers of my right hand pushed several errant hairs off my face from my shoulder-length, honey-blonde wig.

Lisa will get the door. At least this time, I’m not vacuuming the living room carpet.

Several times, in the past, I had been doing that when the doorbell rang. Anyone waiting at the front door could see into our living room, through the side-door window.

I’ve never been caught. Those close calls gave me a terrible – delightful – scare.

No harm/no foul.

I heard Lisa’s footsteps overhead going to the front door and continued my self-inspection in the mirror. Taking my cherry-red lip gloss from the side pocket of my dress -- I freshened the middle of my bottom lip.

All I can do is be quiet and wait. I’ve been waiting all my life to wake up in a female body. . .so I’m well-practiced at passing time.

We had hung our wedding picture, on the wall, next to the mirror. It hadn’t faded much over the last eighteen years. We had been married just after college when things looked bright and sparkly. Little did I know at that time that I would end up at forty in a dead-end job — working at David Scott Enterprises as an account manager.

Account manager! That’s just a glorified term for David Scott’s gofer.

The money was enough to keep Lisa happy, although she made much more than I did.

Truth be told — I enjoy helping David. Allowing him to take all the credit for my work isn’t really so bad.

To help give Lisa the time she needed for her tax law practice, and to balance things out, I took care of all the household duties, including cleaning and cooking.

And a damned fine maid I am. I curtsied to the mirror and smiled. The curtsy had taken years to perfect. The smile was natural — it brightened my face every time I had the opportunity, to express my feminine side. When I had to dress drab and “be the man” I hardly ever found anything to celebrate and normally frowned.

We had been married five years when I finally told Lisa about my desire, to dress in women’s clothing. I had decided I couldn’t go on as things were. I had dressed in my sister’s things when I could as a young teenager. I had bought what I needed when her clothes no longer were big enough.

I had become addicted to the utter tranquility that came over me when I was perched on high heels. I adore how make-up allows my face to be as beautiful as I can manage, given the absolute necessity to be masculine during my work-day.

What’s taking her so long? I could hear a muffled man’s voice that sounded vaguely familiar. Lisa’s speaking louder than normal. I suppose she wants me to know what’s going on. Unfortunately, I can’t quite make out what’s being said.

Lisa had approached my dressing like she did everything else in life. She weighed the pros and cons and decided what was best for us. Her ground rules allowed me to dress whenever I wanted to -- as long as I never left the house or allowed anyone but her to see me.

Her practical side demanded that there be a purpose to my dressing. So, I became her maid. Even though I knew that my dressing already had a purpose. . .to keep me sane.

When I was dressed, I was to stay in “character.”

That’s the easiest part. All I have to do is forget all that horrid male training and be myself.

I was permitted to talk to her only as needed, to carry out my cleaning and cooking duties. She thought it best to address me as “Julie” whenever I was dressed -- so that we would both understand that I wasn’t Mike.

As if I hadn’t actually been Julie all my life. . .a name I found when I was seven.

She said isolating the two personalities would help her “put up with it.”

And. . .I know that my dressing permits me to “put up” with life.

I readily accepted her terms.

Over the years, she redefined and fine-tuned our roles. Every day she made a list of duties for me of what she wanted to be done around the house. Her idea of “spotless cleaning” was far beyond my needs — but I relented and kept the kitchen floors clean enough to eat off while managing the rest of the house to match.

After a short while, my gleaming house and tasty meals became a source of immense personal pride.

Nearly two years ago, we had redecorated the guest bedroom as a maid’s room.

Lisa had become ultra-sensitive to my perfume. She suffered from migraines and any scent added to her pain. I had offered to forgo wearing any cologne, but she insisted that I must “have my fun.” According to her, “A maid without perfume is like a day without orange juice.”

So, it naturally followed that I would have to sleep in my . . . the maid’s . . . room, if Lisa smelled any remnant of perfume. And — her nose was much more sensitive than mine, so that was more often than not.

After a few lonely nights, I came to appreciate the advantages of sleeping alone and woke much more refreshed than I had when I was in bed next to her.

I ever so quietly sniffed my wrist and smiled at the delicate sandalwood and musk undertones of my Celine Dion scent. I closed my eyes and luxuriated in how totally feminine I felt. Of course, the added excitement of nearly being caught en femme added to my pleasure.

I crept to the top of the basement stairs and stood with my back to the wall that separated me from the living room. I could hear that Lisa had, for some strange reason, allowed the man at the door to come in. . .and was sitting with him.

He spoke again.

It’s David!

My boss is in my living room!

No wonder she couldn’t get rid of him right away.

My heart jumped into my throat and pumped blood so rapidly that my ears were pulsating. I was trapped. I needed to go through the living room to get to my bedroom and my male clothing. My only choice was to wait it out, in hiding, until he left.

“I’m sorry I missed Mike,” David said.

He’s lying. He always gets that little catch in his voice when he lies, which is nearly all the time.

“Mike got up at 6:00 -- so he and his pals could get a tee-time,” Lisa said, with surprising smoothness.

Good. David knows I love to golf. I do love it -- almost as much as I love to do my eyes. It’s taken me years, to figure out what colors work and all the shadow, liners, and mascara.

My eyes do make me look sexy. Not to Lisa. She has another rule. No touching when I’m dressed. She has no idea how much I would love the affirmation, of physical contact as Julie.

“In a way, I’m glad Mike’s not here,” David said.

Oh God — that’s his I-want-to-fuck-you voice. I had attended too many conventions, with David. Even when he had been married, he would bed anything on two legs. He bragged about getting some of the best ass, by taking on the less beautiful babes. He said their gratitude to a handsome man who would screw them made them absolutely crazy, in the sack.

“Ugly is only skin-deep,” he would bray, to the men, in the office, “while the art of fucking is all about d-e-e-e-e-p penetration.”

“Mike won’t be back for hours,” Lisa said, a little too breathlessly.

I’m right around the corner — in case you’ve forgotten.

“Would you like a drink?” Lisa asked. “Mike has some thirty-year-old scotch he’s been hoarding. I’m sure if he was here, he’d be pouring it for you.”

Like hell. I wouldn’t give that asshole a glass of warm spit.

“I need to talk to Mike,” David said. “Lisa — you’ve been doing much of my tax planning for years. So, we don’t have many secrets from one another. Mike’s work has been slipping. I don’t know what’s been wrong. But he needs to get his game back together — and soon.”

What! I’ve been doing things just fine. Doesn't everyone screw things up, once in a while?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lisa said. “Do you mind if I join you on the couch? It seems so impersonal sitting wa-ay across the room from you, in a lonely old chair.”

“I won’t bite,” David said with a laugh. “Cheers.”

I frowned when I heard them clinking their glasses.

“You’re not thinking of letting Mike go?” Lisa asked.

“Times are tough,” David said. “But we’re like family — Mike, you, and me. I have a fond spot in my heart for you, Lisa.”

“Let me get you another drink,” she offered.

Good -- she’s going to move back to her chair.

“Ummm,” Lisa moaned.

“What’s wrong,” David asked.

He actually sounds as if he cares.

“My neck has a kink in it. I must have slept on it wrong.”

She hasn’t said anything to me about a pain in her neck.

“I have a bit of a reputation for my neck massages,” David bragged. “Let me have a go at it.”

“Would you?” Lisa practically purred.

Oh geez! David’s going to pull his signature neck massage move. . .the one he keeps telling all us guys about. He’s such a creep. Someone as strikingly handsome as David shouldn’t stoop, to what he does. He can be so sweet when he wants to. Anyone would love to be with David.

From the location of her voice, I could tell she was sitting next to him, on the couch, again.

“Ohhhh . . . that’s heaven. Yessss. . .right there.”

She sounds orgasmic. She’s playing up to him, probably to save my job.

“Turn around, Lisa. Sometimes the pain in the back of the neck comes from the shoulder muscles in the front. Let me give them a bit of a work-over.”

Oh. . .she can’t possibly fall, for that line.

“That’s not my neck. . .or my shoulder. Uhmmmmmmm.”

“You don’t mind. . .do you? Sometimes I find, with women, that all muscle pain is centered in their breasts. That’s where women’s frustration ends up.”

“David. . .that feels sooooo good.”

If David sees me in my uniform, he’ll fire me on the spot. I can’t allow him to make love to my wife. But I’m stuck here until I can think of something to do. The fact of the matter is, without my current salary, we’ll lose our house.

“It would be better, if I didn’t have to try to work on your pain, through your blouse.”

“Do you want me to take it off?”

“Would you?”

Don’t Lisa. . .. I probably would have to take a big pay cut to find another job. . .if I can find another job, in this market. But she doesn’t have to make love to him, for my sake. She’s always making changes in how she and I relate. But this is too much.

“Maybe I should take off my bra, as well. Oh hell, David, why don’t I just get totally naked and you can massage whatever you need to.”

“That. . .sounds. . .wonderful.”

Am I imagining things, or are they’re kissing!

“Uhmmmmm. Not from the rear, David. I don’t do it that way.”

“But. . ..”

“I’ll take care of you. . .but not that. Oh, David. . .. Uhhhh. Like that.”

For the next twenty minutes, I went through a personal version of illuminating hell. Several times, I almost couldn’t stand it anymore and thought hard about going into that room and showing David who’s the boss, in my house. But I was learning so much. . .about Lisa and David. . .and our marriage.

Finally, they finished.

“Ohhhhhh,” Lisa moaned, “that was marvelous. I’m sorry I’m such a baby about anal sex.”

“Nah. . .that’s okay,” David responded gallantly.

“No, it’s not. You’re being so great allowing Mike to keep his job. We need to show our gratitude.”

We?

“Julie, come out here,” she demanded. “I can smell your perfume. So, I know you’ve been hiding right around the corner.”

David will know it’s me. Lisa’s gone crazy. But. . ..

“Julie — right this minute. We have a guest, and you need to meet him.”

Maybe if I balls-it out -- David won’t recognize me. Maybe this is the way to. . .?

I walked into the living room while trying to remember the thousand and one things I needed to do, to look feminine.

“Julie,” Lisa said, “this is David. David, meet Julie. She does whatever I ask her to do — isn’t that right, Julie?”

I nodded and kept my eyes downcast, in what I hoped was a convincing female posture. No eruption; so far — so good.

“Does she do everything you ask?”

David’s using his I-want-to-fuck-you voice.

“Absolutely everything,” Lisa assured him. “She’s the answer to our little anal sex dilemma. Julie, fix David another scotch and come sit by him. I’ll just sit over here in my chair and see what happens.”

I smiled and silently thanked fate that I’d taken the time to freshen my lip gloss.

I do everything Lisa tells me to do. . .just as long as I already want to do it.

The End

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a kudos and a comment. They mean a lot to me.

Thanks to Gabi for the review and help.

I have donated a group of stories to BC to help generate revenue for this site. Erin has said that these stories have raised tens of thousands of dollars in revenue for BC. I don’t receive any of that revenue.

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Stories available through Doppler Press on Amazon:
Shannon’s Course
Peaches
Sky
The Novitiate
Ma Cherie Amour
Molly
Texas Two-Step
All Those Things You Always Pined For
Uncivil
Swifter, Higher, Stronger
Basketball Is Life
Baseball Annie
The Girl Who Saved Aunt T’s
Her
She Like Me
How You Play the Game
Hair Soup
Perfectionists
Imperfect Futures
Minnifer
Voices Carry
Andy and Dawn
The Handshake That Hides the Snake

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Comments

But more seriously

laika's picture

The way the tension built in this tale was excellent, and while the kink factor in this might make some readers uncomfortable or be hard for them to relate to it did fit the characters, and the unexpected resolution.

~~~hugs again, me again.

.
The closest approximation to what it's like in my brain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u08E7c-FRbU&t=4s

Mineral Oil

Julie might find mineral oil useful. It keeps things cleaned out, smooth and shiny how ever you use it, and it doesn't dry out (which can be a draw back.) Also it's digestible, which is often a big plus sometimes. An Almond stick does a great job, but takes a lot of time if the area is large.

Murphy's is good too.

Didn't look...

kristina l s's picture

.. at the tags, just read it so the flow surprised me a pinch. A fairly gentle set up as such things go and it leaves you asking a whole bunch of questions. Just how much is Lisa, er, up to? Is David a complete sleaze and if so is it just a 'money' issue? Is Julie really reluctant? Fidelity? Ummm...

These type of stories always leave me at least a pinch squinty eyed, though this doesn't reach the gut squirming or higher levels of many. Perhaps as Laika so elegantly put it... it'll all work out in the end. Well sorta... Slightly dark humour? Nah, surely not.

Kristina

ps... I'm sure there's something in the title I'm missing.

Getting Shafted

joannebarbarella's picture

Where was I when this appeared?

A subtle interplay with those damned complicated things called human beings, conflicting emotions and objectives, and in typical style blurring the boundaries of dominance and submission.

All the players get what they want, don't they?

What is it about this little gem that doesn't push BC buttons? It should have double the hits and votes,

Joanne

This is a subtle tale that

This is a subtle tale that sneaks up on you and then delivers an eviserating, stiletto like swipe at your gut at the finale. I admire your deft touch, Angela.

deft, indeed

very deft and subtule. I liked it.

DogSig.png

Oh the things we do

Extravagance's picture

to put food on the table...

^_^

Catfolk Pride.PNG

Obedient maid

Totally did not see that coming. Loved the constant introspection by Julie.

>>> Kay